Lizzie's Secret Read Free Page B

though according to Harry there’s going to be a war soon and then he’s off. He wants to fly aeroplanes…’
    â€˜Gossiping again, Tilly?’ Mr Oliver’s clipped tones interrupted.
    Lizzie started to pick up the larger pieces of material that had fallen to the floor, putting them into a large rush basket, which was for reusable scraps. She swept carefully round all the benches and collected all the rubbish, taking it out to the backyard and depositing it in a metal dustbin. Returning to the workshop, she looked round for more jobs.
    â€˜Make some tea, Lizzie. You’ll find everything in the staff room,’ Mr Oliver told her. ‘I like mine strong, with three spoons of sugar, but ask all the girls what they want. You can all have a mug before we start the day. It’s damned cold out…’
    Lizzie made a careful note of everyone’s orders, her training in the canteen standing her in good stead, but when it came to it, she wasn’t quite sure who wanted sugar and who didn’t, so she took a tray with a sugar bowl and spoons, letting them help themselves.
    â€˜That’s an improvement,’ one of the men smiled at her. ‘You’re the new girl, aren’t you – Lizzie something?’
    â€˜I’m Lizzie Larch,’ she balanced her tray on the bench, offering her hand.
    He gripped it hard. ‘I’m Ed Biggleswick – the head cutter. Everyone calls me Ed, don’t bother with Mr Biggleswick, it’s a mouthful and made my life a nightmare at school. Just call me Ed and we’ll get on all right.’
    â€˜Thank you, Ed. Will you teach me to cut out hats one day?’
    He smiled at her eagerness. ‘If Mr Oliver tells me to. You’ll have to wait a bit for that, Lizzie. It takes experience to learn how to shape the hats and the cutting is all important.’
    Lizzie took to the friendly man immediately. ‘Thank you, Ed. I shall enjoy being taught by you – and I do want to learn everything please.’
    â€˜Well, between me and you, no magic about it; it’s all in the patterns,’ Ed winked again. ‘But don’t let on, because we cutters are the top of the tree and we don’t want too many people getting in on the act…’
    Lizzie started to collect the empty mugs on her tray. She washed them, stacking them back on the gingham oilcloth-covered shelves in the kitchen, and returned to the workshop. Everyone had their heads down, busy at their tasks.
    â€˜Ah, there you are, Lizzie,’ Mr Oliver boomed at her. ‘Come along, I’ll show you what I want you to do this morning.’ He took her through to a small room at the side of the workshop and showed her the shelves, which were filled with rolls of materials, baskets of ribbons, silk roses, tins of sequins, boxes of feathers and other trimmings. ‘You can make an inventory of all the material and trimmings. It’s called stocktaking and my lazy nephew was supposed to do it last week, but he’s delivering again today and when he gets back he’ll find another reason not to do it. If you look at the labels, you’ll see whether it’s felt, grosgrain, silk or whatever. Make a note of the colour, and whatever amount it says is left.’
    â€˜Yes, Mr Oliver. You want me to write it down on this pad?’
    â€˜You can write, can’t you?’ he asked brusquely.
    â€˜Yes, sir.’ Lizzie took the pen and notebook from the counter, frowning as she looked at the rolls and rolls of material on the shelves. It was going to take ages; at this rate it would take months before she got near a hat…
    â€˜Get on with it then, girl. By the time you’ve sorted this lot, you’ll know your materials…’
    Lizzie sighed as she looked at the task ahead of her; it was going to take hours. She saw some steps leaning against the wall and fetched them, climbing to the top shelf. After trying to find the